


The Integrity Of A Structure

by flying_pupitre



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Adil is naturally good at everything, Freddie is a good brother, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 15:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14023029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flying_pupitre/pseuds/flying_pupitre
Summary: And that even if war had the capacity to decimate everything, despite it all some things persisted, survived anyway. And he was about to find out just what could.





	The Integrity Of A Structure

**Author's Note:**

> Starting from whenever Adil was hired at the Halcyon to the end of the war. The story does very briefly mention the major plot point in episode 8 regarding Adil and him being... extremely distressed. Lots of liberty with backstory, a very vague understanding of war. And engineering. More notes at the end.

The job of fancy barman was due to a recommendation of a good friend, and older gentleman who apparently hated to see Adil waste his talents at a homely pub on some dodgy street in London. He had put in a word with his friend, a Mr. Garland, who was apparently looking for a new barman at the prestigious Halcyon Hotel. However, while Mr. Garland appreciated the glowing reference he had come with, he’d need to prove himself capable quickly.

It wasn’t arduous. Adil is well beyond competent, and Mr. Garland hired him that same day. He almost couldn’t believe it, finally a ticket to better, and he arranged his things in his locker with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

Everyone was polite, except for Chef who made it clear in his first hour that he hated Adil and that his opinion was unlikely to change. But Adil didn’t mind. He didn’t have to be in the kitchen much, and he’s grateful for this job. He’s always been a bit of a loner anyway, carefully hiding his thoughts and secrets beneath a charming warmth. The first week it was like he thought it would be. He’s often seen with suspicion initially. Tolerated but not liked, or even welcome. But it got easier as he quickly proved himself with his exceptional bartending skills and his strange gift for tending to people’s feelings as easily as he poured a good drink. Slowly but surely the politeness eased into something resembling friendship with some of the staff, and he grew to enjoy the space and place that is the Halcyon.

He likes Sonny a lot. He’s a kind, gentle man and Adil likes that they both share a certain sense of nationlessness despite both having spent the majority of their lives in England. He’s grateful for someone who understands the strange pain of straddling borders, to exist in a country that was both home and not. The entire band is actually quite charitable; they’re the first to extend invitations out for drinks after work and tease him like he’s family. He likes Betsey a lot too. She’s sweet, sort of the unofficial older sister of the staff. But the fun kind, who lends a sympathetic ear one moment and makes him double over in laughter with whispers of scandalous gossip the next. He likes them together too. Betsey is a self-proclaimed easy come easy go type, and Sonny is apparently too young in his career to settle just yet. But Adil sees something else too underneath it all, but if they weren’t ready to see it then who was he to point it out.

Sometimes the futures of the people around him are visible, but he mostly focuses on their presents, as his job demands of him. A glance at the patrons of the bar reveals little bits and pieces. He drinks to his loneliness, she to forget the man who doesn’t really appreciate her at home. Something beautiful sparks between an older couple at the table over, and the two men in dark coats over in the other corner huddle covertly over insidious business. There’s a drink for all those things and more, and serving the extremely wealthy is something oddly easy to get used to.

It’s not until his third of week that the infamous Lord Hamilton, easily recognizable due to the sudden flurry of hotel activity, strides into Adil’s life. Freshly arrived from a business venture in Germany he heads straight for the bar, giving Adil just enough time to quickly mix his drink for him. Mr. Garland had spent a meticulous amount of time going over the exact process with him, and he can feel more than see Mr. Garland’s shoulders relax in relief when Lord Hamilton not only sips his mixed drink with obvious pleasure but compliments him aloud.

In the bustle of it he almost misses a young man, just around his age, with sharp features and an illegible pain behind his green brown eyes slinking behind Lord Hamilton. Nobility, clearly, but didn’t carry himself like it. Shoulders tight and drawn, protecting himself, but from what Adil couldn’t say.

“What can I get you Sir?”

The young man seems surprised to be addressed directly. When Lord Hamilton rolls his eyes he realizes this must be the younger Mr. Hamilton. Mr. Garland confirms this with an introduction. It is his turn to be surprised when Mr. Hamilton extends his hand to shake his. In that moment when a small smile cracks across Mr. Hamilton’s face, revealing something gentle under his tense demeanor, something fissures in Adil as well. He rarely ever gets glimpses into his own future, but an echo inside his brain suggests that this young man is going to be important to him. Of course nothing is revealed about how or under what circumstances but Mr. Hamilton’s grip lingers just nearly a touch too long and maybe fate discloses something to them both simultaneously.

\--

He’s sees more of younger Mr. Hamilton when he is home for his summer holidays. It means he also sees more of how they all interact, sharp eyes from behind his barrier missing nothing. It all sort of falls into place. Freddie is the favorite, though he doesn’t need much special insight to see that. He does observe that Toby is constantly reminded of it, seemingly at every turn. Most of the staff seem to share the opinion. They find Toby to be stand off-ish, arrogant. However, Adil surmises it’s not due to a feeling of superiority, but rather for self-preservation. There is something deeper, and after a week he finally figures it out. Toby carries himself with a desperate loneliness, and Adil only cracks the code because he knows exactly what that yearning feels like. It was different paths, Toby lost in the shadow of a spectacular slightly older brother, Adil eternally foreign, but here they were in the same place. Adil wonders if Toby recognizes this, perhaps on a subconscious level. To Adil he’s always been kind, if just a little aloof. He’s not exactly talkative but he smiles at Adil often, and every once in a while might exchange a few pleasant words. Adil doesn’t mind though. He’s not much of a talker himself, except in situations where he has to be. He likes studying the younger Hamilton, surely a garden variety curiosity. He’s always liked those types, the scholars and the thinkers who have what he has always longed for, perhaps in some other life where he didn’t have to put food on the table for four other people. He can tell Toby has secrets too, and maybe it’s not his place to care but his eyes and his mannerisms always betray an anxious sort of fear underneath his mannerly demeanor. Like a scarred dog, forever watching over its shoulder, yet still waiting for a kindly pat on the head. It twists something in heart, and perhaps it’s no secret that Adil is a little fond of lost causes as well. And he’s always liked boys with dark hair and dark eyes.

Toby buries himself in books at the bar, which Adil initially finds so odd but this highly public boisterous area is where he might actually get some peace and respite. But only periodically. Two months into summer, Adil realizes it’s a fourth night in row that he sees Toby’s face is slightly flushed and his eyes are ringed with a tinge of red. Even if he hadn’t seen Toby’s entire body stiffen one night when his father leaned over to whisper something to him at the bar that night, and then the subsequent clenching of his jaw to prevent any real outward reaction he still would have seen everything about Toby’s childhood unravel before him. He’s quick to pour Toby a bourbon on the rocks, maybe a little heavy handed of a pour. And maybe he would have left it at that but Toby reaches out, expression grateful, but hands shaking with a nearly invisible tremor and eyes slightly glossy.

He’s suddenly seething, stacking the empty bottles in the storeroom an hour later with more force than necessary. He enjoys the clatter against the shelves; it’s a fine enough outlet for not being able to do a damn thing. It’s none of his business or his concern but he’s furious anyway. But when his anger cools and the bottles are stacked he can’t for the life of him explain the visceral reaction.

It’s not until later when he’s walking home at two in the morning it stops him in his tracks like thunder.

He’s in love.

\--

“Idiot.” He fumes to himself when he enters through the staff entrance. For him love or whispers of it were an inconvenience that he was easily able to dismiss with logic, which is why he suspects once he dares acknowledge whatever he holds for Toby Hamilton it’s all consuming and relentless. The universe is cruel and unforgiving.

At least there is always work to distract him, and apparently everyone is in the thick of it. A side affect of war, he thinks, as he amusedly watches the daily sparring match between Emma and Mr. O’Hara. It seems like Mr. O’Hara wins this one, controlling the field as Emma rises in a huff. It’s probably a hollow victory though, as Adil can already see Mr. O’Hara’s lips start to twist into an apology.

It falls on deaf ears as Emma pushes off the bar and strides off, Mr. O’ Hara’s eyes following her retreating figure. He sighs, and then turns to face Adil, who has his best impassive face on.

“What?” Mr. O’Hara asks, eyebrow raised in challenge.  

“Nothing.” Adil replies, smoothly, not taking the bait. He pours Mr. O’Hara another drink and slides it towards him. Adil is a generous man and Mr. O’Hara looks like he needs it. He gives the American another smile, gentle this time, maybe a hint of pity.

“Oh as if you’ve never had a crush before.” Mr. O’Hara retorts dourly, but takes the drink.

“A crush?” Adil pauses. “I don’t think I’ve never heard that phrase before.”

“What?” The genuine shock across Mr. O’Hara’s face is quite endearing. “You know. It’s, what is it you Brits say? Keen on someone?”

“Ah. I can’t say I have.”

“Liar.”

He’s mercifully called away suddenly to another customer and Mr. O’Hara goes back to nursing his drink, looking both thoughtful and glum. Poor Mr. O’ Hara. He could understand that though, aching for someone who wasn’t ever going to want you like that. He mulls it over later, when he’s on his break. It’s an odd phrase, but he supposes it made a lot of sense. Of course throughout his life there have been men he’s been soft on, but the feelings were always just ephemeral flights of fancy; silly sorts of fantasies he’d entertained while flitting from job to job before landing at the Halcyon.

He hates to admit it but the American phrase actually seems fitting. He is crushed. His heart feels constricted, worn and worse for wear. It aches a little when he sees Toby, it leaps painfully, rattling in his chest when Toby’s fingers touch his over a glass one night and his dark eyes flash into his. It’s painful to bear some days, stupidly so. Everyday he walks into work thinking today would be the day he woke up from this foolish dream, release it into the wind for some other unsuspecting fool to cradle. But it doesn’t. If anything it grows worse, fed every time Toby smiles at him, every time he lingers even though Adil knows he likely has better things to do than talk to some bartender. He tries to will it away but it stays in the pit of chest, squeezed and contorted into a pulp.

It does gladden his heart that he’s not alone in all of this. However, he can only hope he’s not as obvious as Sonny or Mr. O’Hara, though he suspects they both think they are the epitome of subtle. Look at these foolish men, crushed indeed.

\--

Toby likes him. At least he thinks so, wiping the bar down after the last of the guests have left.  He can’t tell if Toby gives him any sort of special attention or treatment. “He does.” Tom wails plaintively now and then on breaks between shifts. “You don’t see him asking me to fix his drink.” But that doesn’t seem so odd. He is head barman after all, most people direct requests at him more frequently than the others and apparently his reputation precedes him. Though maybe there is something to it. Toby mostly sits at the bar, and if he doesn’t he always seems to orient himself directly in Adil’s line of vision at the tables. He watches him with a rapt curiosity, and hastily flickers his glance away on the occasion that they do make eye contact. Adil flushes with the awareness, and for once in his life he’s happy that his face doesn’t reflect pink easily.

And so the months eek on, driving him nearly to the point of madness. He can’t just sit there, hopeful every time Toby smiles crookedly at him, aims words in his direction. He actually has a vague suspicion that Toby might be cut from the same cloth as him; he’s observed Toby around women. But that didn’t mean Toby would ever choose someone like him, risk it all for a lowly barman and not even a proper Englishman at that. Toby is destined to make some pretty noblewoman an advantageous marriage, especially since Freddie seems to be heading in the direction of not being able to fulfill that.

Regardless, he couldn’t seem to let it go. Love was every bit as malicious as all the songs and poems said it would be. He can’t believe it took him twenty-two years to experience it and surely it was some sick joke that his heart would choose someone so incredibly beyond his grasp.

\--

What did you do with a love so useless?

You nursed it, you coddled it. You clasped it safe at night; you served it a drink most evenings in the bar. You nurtured it but tried not to let it escape the confines of your hands.

Sometimes you speak to it. Not as often as you like, but it happens every once in while during a lull in a song set, or at last call.

One day you kiss it.

\--

You think the world is ending and you’ve really fucked things up this time but by some miracle the next day it kisses you back. Twice.

\--

He can scarcely believe it. Him, in the second in line to the Hamilton fortune’s room. Mr. Hamilton, underneath him as they kiss in Toby’s bed, Toby’s tie loosened, top buttons on his shirt carelessly undone.

Adil is a smart man. He knows at least ninety percent of his desire for Toby was based on fantasy and day dreams, what did he really know about him beyond what he could observe behind a bar. But when the dreams start to become tangible, it is everything. Neither the murmurs they finally share in the dead of night nor Toby’s touch on his body fall short of expectation; if anything it is beyond. They tether Adil to this Earth in a way nothing ever has before.

God and when they do finally fuck it’s like nothing Adil could have ever conjured in deepest pits of darkness, alone in his tiny flat dreaming about what it would be like. Nothing could have prepared him for the warm breadth of Toby’s body underneath him, what it was like to discard his clothing one piece at a time, Toby’s mouth slightly parted, face flushed. To kiss Toby over and over, suck little marks into his chest. To slide his hands up Toby’s sides, to lick the impossibly soft skin on the inside of Toby’s thighs; Toby’s little yelp of pleasure when Adil swallows his cock for the first time. Adil loves the tiny moles stark against Toby’s pale skin, loves connecting them with his tongue. And nothing could have prepared him for the way Toby feels, his slightly larger body wet and open for him, Toby’s eyes holding his, expression not unlike the same intent focus that he reads his codes with. Adil is so timid at first, paranoid that he’s not being careful enough. But it gets easier, more elegant as it becomes habitual. Maybe this could have been better if only one of them had a clearer sense of what they were doing. But at least they are able to fumble through it together.  

“I feel we should be in school.” Toby chuckles once, braced over Adil, sliding his partially clothed body against Adil’s mostly bare one. Adil can’t help but laugh too. He knows what Toby means. Two men in their early twenties, who could count their combined kisses with other people on one hand. He thought that they’d both be much more reticent but months of aching have culminated in this and they are no longer afraid.

Adil’s been propositioned before. Many times, by women and men alike. But these requests were easy to ignore. He always assumed it was because he was ultimate low risk pleasure. He couldn’t sully anyone’s reputation, after all who could he possibly tell that would believe him. But Toby kisses him a lot, gently stretches his body open, cups his face with his large warm hands tells Adil he’s the beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Toby’s a mathematician, but he’s also a romantic. He loves to push Adil’s hair back, dart his eyes over Adil’s face as if he’s trying to memorize him, slide a thumb carefully along the length of Adil’s lower lip before leaning down for a kiss. He never makes Adil feel disposable nor like some exotic conquest. Lord and Lady Hamilton had their faults, but somehow they’d raised an incredibly generous son who willed Adil’s body to pleasure and was always so grateful for anything given in return. Adil gives it all back, because he wants to and it’s all he has. Indeed, he is a man of very limited means and if nothing else he wanted Toby to never have a doubt in his mind that someone in this world valued everything about him.  

\--

Adil notes the little ways things shift and swirl around them, both outside in the world with raids becoming more frequent, and inside the quiet safety of Toby’s room. As September stretches into October, and a bitter sleet falls through November he observes the way their relationship undergoes metamorphosis. It loses that initial excitement that covert liaisons bring, but it ebbs into something deeper. They converse more, Toby asking him about his life, his family, Adil filling in the blanks while Toby absently traces abstract lines on his stomach. He adores watching Toby work, head bent over his notes, sharp scratches of a pencil on rough paper while Adil reads the newspaper quietly in the armchair. He delights in the way the pencil stops, feels Toby’s eyes on his face, and knows that in a few seconds Toby will cross the room and crawl into his lap, wrinkling his uniform. Toby tells him about his childhood, life at boarding school, the endless competition with Freddie. He talks about his love for numbers and equations, and even though Adil can’t always follow all of it he savors these infrequent moments when Toby is completely at home in himself. Toby doesn’t say much about his work, but Adil is appreciative of the way it gives Toby a little confidence. He’s happy to see that someone else out there acknowledges how truly intelligent Toby is.  

\--

When he thinks he’s unwrapped it all, Toby always surprises him with something new. Toby starts leaving him little gifts. A book he thinks Adil would like, a tiny bottle of cologne. Adil is embarrassed at first, but Toby never had anyone outside his brother who he could be openly affectionate with. He asks him more personal questions, insisting that there should be no secrets between them.

“How did you sort of er... get into all this.” Toby asks once, gesturing vaguely at Adil’s uniform, placed carefully on the chair so that it won’t get mussed.

“After tenth standard I dropped out, and then I started working as a mechanic in my family’s shop in Liverpool. It was good for a bit, but I realized we needed more money and tending bar seemed like a pretty viable option. At some point I’d ended up in London and one thing led to another and now I’m here. Head barman at the very prestigious Halcyon Hotel.”

Toby smiles a little at that. He searches Adil’s face thoughtfully.

“Did you ever regret it?”

“Dropping out?”

Adil hesitates. It’s not an easy thing to talk about. Toby threads his fingers through Adil’s, squeezes his hand gently.

“I did.” He answers, a touch wistfully. “I’d always sort of wanted to be an engineer, like my father. I liked maths a lot. And physics.”

“Your father is an engineer?”

“Was. That’s how we ended up here actually. He was admitted to a program for studying mechanical engineering. But when he graduated apparently no university would hire him. It hardly seems better now, but those were the 20’s. He and my mother didn’t want to go back to India, so he ended up using his skills to open up a shop. Don’t feel sorry for us,” he says hastily, noting Toby’s face. “He’s actually doing quite well now, and between the two of us we manage.”

The room goes silent and just when Adil has that uncomfortable feeling he’s broken whatever spell brought them together these past few months, Toby shifts so that he’s underneath Adil, and pulls him down for a kiss.

\--

“Tell me about your name.” He murmurs against Adil’s skin another night. There had been a raid, and on those nights the threat of death always seemed to make Toby more talkative. Though this actually was a good story, a story he was proud of. His parents were pioneers ahead of their time, their union brought faiths together. His mother is Muslim, his father Hindu.

They’d named him Adil, after a favorite uncle of his mother’s. He suspected that their union was one of the reasons for their reluctance to return after his father finished his studies.

“And the meaning?”

Adil is an Arabic name. It means justice.

“And?”

“And what?”

Adil leans back to get a better look at Toby. Toby grins in return, that impetuous toothy grin that always makes his heart skip a beat.

“Do you think it suits you?”

Adil laughs a little. He can’t say for sure. He’s always done his best to live his life as honestly as possible, but no one rises up through the grotty pubs of London without a little nefariousness.

“Not nefarious. Brave. And you are just.”

He catches Toby’s lips then, to stop him but also because his heart is bursting tonight and he can barely stand it. He decides that night, watching Toby sleep for a few minutes before he has to slip out, that he couldn’t promise Toby much but he would do everything in his power to do right by him.

\--

It’s at the end of November when it occurs him that he is superfluously happy. In the haze of smoky skies and screaming sirens he has Toby Hamilton, who wants to give him the world. There was so much to like about him, and now so much to love. Surely this all would come crashing down one day but let it stay at bay for one more day and then one more.

The little morning dalliances are his favorite. They are so brief but some days it’s all they have. On one of these mornings he rinses off quickly in the bathroom, while Toby pulls on his dressing gown. When he enters the bedroom he finds Toby has laid out his work uniform on his bed. Adil stares, lips parted in in wonder, as Toby beckons him over. He doesn’t know what Toby is playing at this morning and he wants to remind Toby he’s going to be late but Toby lays out his underwear, his trousers on the floor and schedule be damned. He steps into them, and Toby slides them up his legs, kissing his shins, the spot behind his knee that’s always been sensitive. He mouths at Adil’s thighs, and Adil gasps as Toby presses a kiss to his soft cock. His breath hitches and he can feel Toby smirk against his hipbone, clearly pleased. He rolls Adil’s trousers all the way up and fastens the buttons. He straightens up, slides his tongue along Adil’s lips then, parting them slowly, leisurely like they have all the time in world. Adil just wants to kiss him back ferociously like the world is ending and this is the closest thing to salvation he’ll ever get, but he doesn’t. It’s Toby’s game; he’s _dressing_ him. It seems counterintuitive but it’s quite possibly the most erotic thing he’s ever experienced. He indicates Adil to raise his arms, and slips his undershirt over his head. He kisses down Adil’s neck, to the stretch of exposed skin above the collar. He sucks one mark and then another into Adil’s skin. Adil can’t wait to see imprints on his chest over the next few days, just over his heart, reminding him of what he has. Toby helps him into his white button up, deftly doing the buttons, expression serious. It’s moments like this that both delight and confuse Adil so much. That outside these doors this man was restrained, gun shy, wanted to avoid attention as much as possible, and here he was tying Adil’s bowtie with a practiced ease, pressing kisses to Adil’s jawbone with a graceful assurance. Finally, he pulls on Adil’s starched heavy jacket, the final piece. A few more buttons and Toby takes a step back, admiring his handiwork. Now he really was going to be late, but he can’t even be a little annoyed when Toby carefully lets him out. He has this memory to unfold and fold again until the creases were worn and ends were frayed, and he replays it when Emma pulls him aside to have a brief but stern chat about punctuality.

The hickeys are a livid purple on his chest the next day, when he admires them in the safety of his tiny flat. It’s so blissful that he wonders if he’s missing something. All good things had to end eventually, but he hopes the clock hasn’t run out them yet. Sometimes he worries. Not in the way Toby frets, which was much more frequent and also tended to be more panicked. On the good days he could push the doubts aside. Hadn’t they both suffered enough? Didn’t they deserve this? Wasn’t it a preordained something that two boys with terribly lonely childhoods found each other as men, and it was everything?

\--

“You’re in love.”

His head snaps up from where he is polishing and stacking glasses in the ballroom bar. Betsey’s eyes are inquisitive, and her mouth an open grin. He hadn’t even realized she’d been watching him. He rolls his eyes, nonchalant.

She shrugs just as easily, matching his stance.

“Fine, don’t tell. But I know that look, love.”

He smiles but says nothing; everyone in the band always teases him like this so it’s not so out of the ordinary. Betsey did always discern more than she let on, but he doesn’t think it’s anything to be particularly worried about. Then Tom corners him in the alley behind the hotel two days later when they are on a break together.

“So who’s the girl you’re shagging then?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, fu-”

“I know I know, don’t use that word.”

Tom persists, but Adil smiles dismissively. He thinks he’s convinced Tom to drop it, helpfully goading Tom into discussing his admiration for the new blonde maid who joined the staff last week. He’s grown to like Tom, he’s genial and harmless, but the fact that he seemed to pick up on something causes a strange panic to coil in the pit of stomach. He tries to disregard it, but it lingers, just in the back of his mind. It’s one of those moments again. A whisper in the shadows, an ill wind.

Something is coming, and he’s suddenly very afraid. He’s had this thought before. That the were toying with forces they couldn’t understand, and that he should end this. Let it last till the end of autumn while the world is still beautiful, end it when the leaves fell. But he can’t, or won’t. Toby reassures him later, promises that they will be more careful.

It’s enough to assuage his fears for the next week, but it also causes him to miss a breach in the levee, and one day in early December the barricade no longer holds and the sea rushes in.

\--

It’s his family yes. His parents, his sister, his baby brother who he'd practically raised himself. But when he slides that little slip of paper across the bar to Mr. D’Aberville with shaking hands and clenched jaw it’s Toby he sees, stooped over his forms, curled upon himself his sleep like he was used to occupying as little space as possible, that perpetually tortured look on his face, so completely undeserving of all of this. _Fuck you Adil Joshi_. _Fuck you_. _You promised him so little you couldn’t even give him that._

He knows in some other life it would have been different; but in this one when a white man states they can destroy your whole life one tended to believe him. But that didn’t matter. It’s all his fault anyway. He was greedy and selfish and now they were both going to pay.

\--

What was it? That English expression? Butterfly effect? No domino effect. When everything comes crashing down at once. When your entire life is upended and pieces clatter around you like brick buildings bowing to bombs. Except this time when the smoke cleared there was nothing left either of him or for him.

\--

Adil wakes up cotton mouthed and disoriented. It takes a second for his flat to shift into clarity. He can tell it’s still dark out, the shoddy furniture illuminated by wan moonlight. A chill wind trickles in from the open window and bits and pieces start to emerge from the night before. His body feels leaden, like it’s not even his. His right arm is on fire, and he realizes it’s because Toby’s entire weight is on it, cutting off his circulation. It takes an inordinate amount of effort but he pulls out his arm from under Toby, waking him in process. In the second before Toby is fully conscious Adil takes a snapshot of the moment. This is how he wants to remember him. Toby’s face open, peaceful, content. Like nothing could hurt him and nothing ever did. When Toby’s eyes finally open into his he smiles weakly and buries his face into Adil’s neck.

“You need to go home.”

Toby looks confused and then incensed but before he can start sputtering Adil touches his face gently, carefully.

“I mean you need to go see your family. They are probably losing their minds wondering where you are.”

Toby is a logical man and sometimes that was the only way to appeal to him.

He nods and pulls on his coat and shoes, but keeps glancing at Adil as if to make sure he wouldn’t evaporate. Adil smiles as reassuringly as he can.

“You’ll come by later, won’t you? You’ll come see me.” Toby’s voice is unsteady and his eyes are desperate; he’s in so much debt to Toby already that he acquiesces. He just needs another hour or so to rest, and he promises he’ll come to the hotel as soon as he can.

When he arrives at the hotel in a few hours it’s complete pandemonium. He’s never seen anything like it, so much death everywhere and he didn’t even know. One entire wing is gone but thank God everyone he cares about is alive. Sonny’s broken an arm and Betsey is apparently critical but stable. Tom and Mr. O’Hara are shaken but unharmed, and the Hamilton family survived the night. He sets to work quickly, joining the others, attending to the wounded and carrying out the dead. He catches a glimpse of Toby, attempting to comfort his mother. Her face is blank, disbelieving, and he hopes in the chaos of it Toby’s absence was brief and unnoticeable. He’s caused this family enough pain the last three days and it would be insult to injury if they spent any lot of time terrified that they couldn’t find Toby in the wreckage. 

The next few days the equilibrium shifts as they all struggle to establish a new normal. There are a lot of memorials and other logistical tasks to attend to, and in the next week he hardly sees Toby at all. He’s not avoiding him per say, it’s just a hectic time and nobody knows what the next step is. Half the staff is leaving. With no hotel there are no jobs and even though they all have a sense of loyalty to the Hamilton’s it’s a precarious position to be in. Still. The Hamiltons have all moved back into their quarters but he can’t bring himself to cross the threshold into upstairs and knock on Toby’s door.

\--

“You’re avoiding me.”

He doesn’t look up from the floor where he is scrubbing away the last of some blood a week later. The ballroom is mercifully empty.

“It’s been busy here.” He murmurs to the tile.

There is a nearly imperceptible touch on his shoulder.

“Leave it. Come upstairs. Please. Please.” Toby begs.

It’s that second please that gets him, spoken with so much anguish that he rises and finally meets Toby’s eyes. He flickers his eyes to the stairs. Toby knows the signal. Adil will follow in fifteen minutes, to ensure no one saw them together.

He watches Toby stride away, takes a heavy breath, and follows after he thinks enough time has passed.

It’s going to be the last time he raps on the door. It’s going to be the last time Toby wrenches it open and all but drags Adil in, pushes him into the wall and kisses him fiercely. These are the things Adil knows, and the hunch in Toby’s shoulder tells him Toby is also aware of this.

But Toby has that bit of nobility entitlement and he won’t accept it. Toby sets out his argument as logically as he can. He knows Adil was blackmailed, and he knows he didn’t have much of a choice. And Mr. D’Aberville was dead now anyway in what could have only been a Deus Ex Machina. He listens impassively as Toby tries again, rephrasing his words into better sentences with improved syntax. It goes on for a bit, until it looks like Toby is spent, leaning heavily against his desk.

In the quiet that follows Adil has enough clarity to see the truths etched out before him. That in his heart of hearts he knows Toby couldn’t forgive him, not really. And even if he said he did it was going to lie dormant inside him, an ugly dark coil that would eventually destroy them both, maybe not today or the next, but eventually somewhere down the line. Of course Toby would say they are past all that. Toby was beautiful and benevolent, and Adil was his first love. He would do anything for Adil but Adil wasn’t anywhere to close to deserving even a fraction of that.

“What will you do then?”

He thinks Toby will be angry, but he only looks defeated.

He’s not sure about his future, but that’s for him to figure out. Maybe he could find work at another hotel in town, or return to a pub somewhere. Technicians were high in demand now, and maybe he could fall back on everything he picked up in the years of working with his father.

It seems like everything that needed to be said was; Adil can take a little solace in that at least they had a proper goodbye. As he reaches for the door he’s pulled into Toby from behind, Toby burying his face in Adil’s hair. Toby’s body is wracking with sobs; they reverberate in Adil’s. Adil learned from a young age that the English should never see him cry, but surely there were always exceptions to these rules. He holds Toby’s hands, gripping them so tightly he’s worried he’ll leave bruises. He doesn’t know how long they’re like that, until he gently pries himself out of Toby’s arms.

“I don’t regret any of it.”

And that’s the last thing Adil hears before slipping out, Toby’s whimpers muffled but still just discernible as he opens the doors to the staff stairwell.

\--

He does end up finding a job fairly easily at another reputable hotel. Mr. Garland had given him a generous reference, and let him know that if he should ever choose a job at the Halcyon would always be waiting for him.

He stays for six months, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s still friendly; the guests adore him. It’s the war he thinks; it wrecks everything nice. As more of London crumbles the opulence of the hotel becomes more and more ridiculous. After a certain point he can no longer be compelled to serve nice alcohol to people he longer cares to unravel or nurture. And after the eighth tortured young aristocratic man with dark hair and dark eyes walks in and his heart clenches before he can stop it he decides that it is enough.

\--

He enlists. His skills are still good, it’s not too bad transitioning from cars to planes. He studies hard, throws himself into the work. Training is extensive, the learning curve steep. But after another few months of training he’s become an asset to the Royal Air Force. He’s deployed to France, Germany. War stretches on. Some men have photos of their partners up in the barracks, and sometimes he will carefully unfold a memory of Toby. Maybe a day in October, when they walked in the park. Or a night in November, when Toby carefully pushed the dark strands of hair out of Adil’s eyes, face illuminated by the moonlight. There is still pain, but the sharp stabs meld into a more of a persistent dull ache. He hopes Toby is alive, that he’s happy. Maybe he’s found someone to share his bed, to be good to him. He occasionally wishes there was a way of knowing, but he’d lost the right to care years ago.

\--

In June 1943 he’s called back to England, to tend base there. It feels good to be back on English soil. On an uncharacteristically sunny day in April when he’s polishing the engine, a shadow flits across his field of vision. When he glances up his heart drops like a stone and the blood is thundering in his years. _Toby_. Except it isn’t. In the low light of the hanger their mannerisms are so similar, their features overlap. Of course they do, they’re twins and even if they were so different there was enough that made them the same. He finds himself gaping at non other than Lord Hamilton.

\--

It takes two weeks for Freddie to recognize him. Adil feel’s Freddie’s eyes on his face a lot, struggling to place the familiarity of his face. Despite Adil’s attempts to avoid him, the base isn’t terribly large it clicks one day and Freddie waylays him in the mess hall.

“You’re the barman, aren’t you?”

Head barman. And also were.

Freddie’s voice is excited, aporetic.

“I can’t believe it! It’s so good to see a familiar face.”

Adil can see why people always like Freddie so much. He’s earnest, and also had a knack for making people feel like they mattered. His face looks the same, but tired, worn. He’s seen a lot. It’s war. He seems genuinely happy to see Adil. Adil’s heart stabs. He probably didn’t know then about what happened in 1940.

“You have no idea how wonderful it is to see someone from home.”

He thinks Freddie will leave it at that, but he doesn’t. He lurks around Adil often, wears him down until a genuine friendship forms. Adil is careful to hold Freddie at arms length, after all there are things that Freddie should never know. It starts as a penance, but sooner rather than later Adil finds he’s grown to enjoy the other man’s company. The Halcyon was the place that smashed his life, but Freddie’s right, it was also a place he loved once. It had a semblance of home.  

\--

The Hamilton sons are alike. Once you were admitted into their inner circles they were open books. It’s an adjustment at first, but he gets used to Freddie approaching him while he works on the planes. Freddie is an excellent conversationalist, and he tells good stories. It aches, but he can bear it. Freddie will sometimes relay stories he’s already heard from Toby, from his perspective. He keeps Adil filled in on the Halcyon gossip. It’s been converted into a refugee shelter. Good, Adil thinks. Good that they were doing their part for the war effort. He can bet Lady Hamilton was thrilled. Freddie speaks about Emma. A lot. He asks for Adil’s advice, Adil lends a sympathetic ear. He doesn’t mind. It’s better than talking about Freddie’s family.

“You’re pining too, I can tell.” Freddie quips.

But Adil only smiles politely and says nothing.

\--

Curiosity does eventually get the better of him.

“How is your brother?” He ventures one day, tinkering on the engine of Freddie’s plane.

Freddie glances up from where he’s polishing his goggles.  

“Did you know him well?”

“No,” Adil lies carefully. “He was just at the bar quite often.”

Freddie laughs. “I know! I thought maybe he was keen on Betsey he would sit there so much.”

Adil forces a grin.

“He’s good actually. Apparently he’s one of the best they’ve got in the war office, and after all that nastiness he’s seems to have made himself quite indispensable.”

So Toby is fine then. He releases the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

But Freddie isn’t done. “It’s a relief. I’m sure you heard all about it. Gossip travels fairly quickly in the Halcyon. My brother is so bookish; you know? I don’t even know who he talks to outside me and Mother. It’s hard to believe anyone could have had any sort of leverage on him.”

Adil stiffens. Freddie Hamilton is a fool, and Adil had no idea they were good enough friends that Freddie would share all this. It seems to occur to Freddie he’s said too much too, and he goes back to interestedly arranging his equipment.

\--

“You were the leverage, weren’t you.”

Adil’s hand stills on the frame he’s polishing. His back is to Freddie, and he doesn’t turn around. He hasn’t seen Freddie for a month. There have been a lot of missions and a lot of engines to repair, and he thinks at some point maybe Freddie had leave. This is confirmed when he does finally face him. Freddie’s face is illegible in the dim light of the hanger.

“I told him I met you.” Freddie says by way of explanation.

“And he told you.”

“He didn’t have to say a word. God, it was like I’d physically struck him the instant he heard your name.”

There were times when Adil thought about how this conversation would go. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that it wouldn’t come up eventually, but he assumed either war would end or one of them would be killed in combat first. Freddie is very intelligent, capable, just like Toby. Given enough time and resources, the Hamilton boys could solve just about anything. He doesn’t know what Freddie heard, or how he’d pieced it together but he doesn’t ask. It would be so much easier if Freddie just hit him, as he is allegedly prone to doing in anger.

But nothing happens and he can’t tell if its lucky or unlucky that the bell rings and they need to go.

Freddie’s eyes tell him this isn’t over.

They both survive the raid, but it’s a few days where they have a moment alone again. When Freddie approaches the hanger Adil makes to leave but Freddie holds up both his hands.

“Pax. I just want to understand.”

Adil wipes the grease from his hands and crosses his arms. Freddie doesn’t look furious, not like the other night, just exhausted. 

“I suppose I sort of suspected, but I couldn't ever be sure. Toby never said anything. About himself I mean.”

“And what would you have done? Thrown him a lovely party?” Adil knows he's being cruel, but for once he doesn't care. 

Freddie flinches.

“You have no right to be angry with me.” Freddie’s jaw is tight, color high in his face, but his voice is even, measured. “You spent the entirety of last year keeping this. You have no right.”

Something in Adil snaps. He knows he has no right but suddenly he’s enraged, and all the loathing and agony from the last four years boil up in his chest he can no longer hold it in. His rage is completely displaced- it has nothing to do with Freddie but it erupts out of him before he can control it.

“No right?” He hisses out between clenched teeth. Shouting was never his preferred method of communication. “Of course I have no right. It’s Toby’s right to tell you if he had wanted to. It was never my right to say anything. Just because you and I happened to be at the same place at the same time doesn’t mean we owe each other a damn thing.”

Freddie opens his mouth to protest, but Adil isn’t finished.

“So what is it then Lord Hamilton? The offence? That I defiled your brother? That I betrayed him? Both?”

His words are choking in his throat but goddammit he’s already let one Hamilton see him cry once and he wasn’t about to let a second. A sob escapes him, and he turns around quickly to hide his face.

“You don’t think it didn’t hurt?” He’s just able to bite out. “You don’t think it doesn’t hurt to see you every single day, to be reminded of what I did?”

“You loved him.” Freddie’s voice is soft, echoing in the hanger, sounds like shattered glass. Adil simply sucks in a shallow breath.

“You loved him.” Freddy repeats, incredulous.  

Then Adil is finally done with this. Done with this conversation, done with their quasi-friendship. He storms out, not caring if Freddie tries to stop him.

Freddie doesn’t.

\--

He thinks that war will never end, but one strange day in 1945 is does. No one can believe it. By some miracle he’s come out of it fairly unscathed. Armistice is signed in June, and they are returning home, or to what was left of it. As he’s packing up his things, there’s a slightly awkward cough behind him.

“What can I do for you, Lord Hamilton?”

Freddie shifts uncomfortably.

“Look, I- I wanted to give you this.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lavender envelope.

Adil raises an eyebrow.

Freddie looks incredibly sheepish.

“It’s an invitation. To my wedding. This September. Emma picked the color.”

Adil is stunned, but he takes it anyway. He doesn’t know what to make of it. Freddie is a magnanimous, compassionate man, but forgiveness usually comes in the form of brusque words, or a handshake, not in a wedding invitation.

“If this is some ploy to-"

“It’s not-” Freddie breaks in quickly. “We’ve been through a lot. Together. And I still consider you a friend. It would mean a lot to me if you came.”

“I can’t.”

Freddie nods, as if he’d been expecting this response.

“So what now then, for you?”

Adil shrugs. He hadn’t given it much thought yet. Go home. See his family. He actually sort of misses the hospitality business, maybe he’d go back to tending bar.

“And you?” he asks Freddie.

Freddie chuckles.  

“I’m not sure. Emma has a lot of ideas of things she wants to work towards. I think she’ll run for mayor at some point, so I’ll probably just support her campaign. I think I’d make a fairly excellent politician’s spouse. Till then the Halcyon remains.”

Adil smiles politely. Freddy grins back and reaches out to shake Adil’s hand.

“Stay in touch then. I wish you well.”

“I wish you the same. Congratulations on your marriage.”

Freddie turns to leave, but hesitates in the door.

“Toby’s starting a doctoral program at Oxford in the fall.”

Adil smiles wryly, he doesn’t really know what Freddy is playing at, but he can guess.

“I’m happy for him.”

A pause. Adil reaches down to pick up his knapsack.

“He’s forgiven it you know.” Freddie finally blurts out.

The Hamilton men are apparently nothing if not persistent.

“It wasn’t about his forgiveness.”

“I know.”

Adil shakes his head. What did Freddie Hamilton really know.

“He’s never gotten over you.” Freddy imparts quietly, a last ditch effort. Adil scoffs, but it would be a lie to say something didn’t flicker a little somewhere deep inside his body.

“I suppose he told you this.”

“No.” Freddie actually laughs, a little ruefully. “I didn’t ask. It’s his right to tell me, if he should ever want to. But you know my brother. He’s never been particularly good at hiding his thoughts or feelings. I hope you change your mind. I hope you’ll come. You went through war. Surely you’ve punished yourself enough.”

And with that he turns and walks away, leaving Adil thoughtfully turning the envelope over in his hands. He nearly throws it away, twice. But in the end he can’t seem to bring himself to.

\--

On September 16th, 1945 he arrives at the Halcyon Hotel. It’s so strange to be back. The world will never be the same, but the lobby and the ballroom are restored to their former glory. Freddie spots him before he sees Freddie, his face flooded with joy and maybe a hint of relief. Before he opens his mouth Freddie tilts his head to upstairs.

“Toby’s not down yet, I think he's deliberately avoiding guests.”

“I believe you mentioned my invitation was not some ploy.”

“It’s not.” Freddie shrugs noncommittally. “And his room is 316 now.” He’s dragged away by other guests before Adil can say anything.

In the hustle of if, he’s grateful no one else notices him. As he starts plodding up the stairs, the back entry ones he knows like the back of his hand, the memories start flooding out from the walls, waking the ghosts. Toby stealing glances at him from the bar. The first time they kissed in between the wine racks. The first time he told Toby he loved him. The first time Toby said it back. They were so young then, it feels like an eternity ago. Young foolish men who promised each other everything, and couldn’t make good on any of it. But that was how people loved. They loved recklessly, they let it define them.

War had upended it all. London was fractured, nearly beyond repair, and yet here they were rolling up their sleeves anyway. They could finally speak of tomorrow. The Halcyon was battered and bruised, but here it remained, an eternal reminder that everything that transpired within its halls were etched into it’s door jambs and corners.

But in a strange way, couldn’t one argue that the gaping cracks in the walls also let in the light?  That the integrity of a structure wasn’t so much how it broke, but what it could eventually be? And that even if war had the capacity to decimate everything, despite it all some things persisted, survived anyway. And he was about to find out just what could.

He inhales deeply to steady his pounding heart, and knocks.

\--

On a little lane in Oxford there lies a pub. It is small, perhaps a little worn, but inviting and warm nonetheless. It has become quite the favorite of locals and students alike, mainly due to the kindly Indian man who runs it. His face is still youthful, but there are the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, a slight graying at his temples but hardly noticeable. He is wonderfully warm and compassionate, and often seen offering a sympathetic ear to homesick first years, graduate scholars who can’t seem to get along with their advisors. It’s mostly beer, but every once in a while he’ll whip up the most interesting drinks. A drink for the time a girl you were keen on never called you back. Your first perfect score.

A man with dark brown hair and hazel eyes is a common fixture there. He has the same drink nearly every night, bourbon on the rocks, in the exact same spot in the corner where he has a direct view of the bar. His hair has subtle flecks of grey in his hair as well, but it gives him a sort of dignity. He is usually seen grading papers, or preparing for lectures. He doesn’t seem to mind when things are a little loud, as if he had gotten used to studying with a lot of chaos around him. He’s a professor in the maths department, and he’s built up quite the reputation for himself. Word has it that he was one of the coders of the Great War, though no one is ever quite able to confirm this. He private and reserved, but will be friendly if approached during office hours.

Every once in a while a rumor of insidious sort will circulate. About them. But the curiosity is unfounded and no one gives it much thought. They are well loved in the community, and are both war heroes at that.

And maybe some nights one might catch a tiny smile shared between them, or an affectionate glance. But it could very well be a trick of the light, who could really say for sure.

 

 

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many reasons to love Adil Joshi, that character will always have a special place in my heart. It was wonderful to see South Asian diaspora community rep, and I wanted to try to figure out a bit about Adil's life, his name, and daily experiences in England before there were prominent South Asian communities. I ended up basing Adil post 1940 loosely on a family member, who dropped out of engineering college at some point and was incidentally drafted into becoming a technician with the Indian Air Force during WW2. 
> 
> But likely historical inaccuracies abound, I have no idea how war works. 
> 
> Lastly, I struggled with writing through EP 8 Adil. It was like... address, don't address? So I ended up going with imply, but not really address because honestly it's such a sensitive topic that I didn't want to do mental health issues any disservice. And I do feel like there are people who can and have written about it well, but I didn't feel qualified. So hopefully it works.


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